“What’s in the bag?”
Landon had forgotten he was holding the clothes he’d purchased—blue jeans and a button-front shirt. He’d also picked up a package of socks and splurged on a pair of shoes. “New clothes.”
“Want me to take ’em to the office?” They walked into an open room with four barber chairs—only one was empty. Other guys seemed to just be hanging around. When he crossed the threshold, the doorway seemed to dampen some of the hard rock music blaring from the shop speakers. The music and the ’50’s barber style set-up and décor made for an odd combination.
“Yeah, thanks.” He handed the bag to Lottie and started for the only free chair without being told.
“He’s gettin’ the works,” she announced loudly to the barber who would be doing his cut.
“Got it.” No other words were exchanged. There seemed to be an innate understanding of exactly what he wanted. Once the black cape snapped around his neck, he stayed in that chair for the next hour. The barber worked efficiently, doing a good job, all the while shooting the shit with all the men hanging around. It didn’t take long for Landon to settle in and just enjoy the environment.
With the towel wrapped around the edge of his freshly shaved face, Landon closed his eyes and listened to the conversations going on around him. There was something about men in a barber shop and their tall tales, each one trying to one-up the other.
“I’m just going to clean up the eyebrows. Keep the shape natural,” the barber said, right there in his face.
“Sure,” he replied, his eyes still closed.
“And do his nose.” The eye not currently being shaped popped open at the unnerving announcement. The owner stood over him, giving a critical assessment.
“Nose?” he asked to make sure he’d heard correctly.
“Nobody wants to see what’s going on in there,” Lottie said with such distaste he had to resist the urge to lift a hand, wanting to feel what she found so offensive.
“I’ve never had a problem with nose hair,” Landon said, sounding lame even to himself. Didn’t nose hairs protect or something?
“That you can see.”
Well, hell. Self-doubt flooded him. He didn’t want Robert to discover a stray nose hair. But he also wasn’t sure he wanted to do whatever cleaning nose hair might entail. The conviction in her voice didn’t leave him much room for argument. This was her job. She knew best. Right?
“Okay. I guess.” He did want to look as nice as possible for Robert. His stomach did a flip as he thought about the other man. Should he shave his chest? Maybe he should shave and clean up his junk…
You’re such a dumbass. He’s not gonna see or care about your junk. It’s just dinner. But he can see the hangers out your nose.
A stick with warm liquid assaulted his nose. “What the fuck is that?” Man, he wished he wasn’t lying back in the chair or he could see what was going on.
“Stop talking, and breathe through your mouth,” the barber instructed.
“Give it time to harden,” the shop owner said from his other side. Were they double teaming him? Another stick was inserted in the other nostril. Immediately Landon regretted this decision as his mouth popped open to breathe. He should have just passed on the service. What in the world had he been thinking saying yes to waxing the inside of his nose?
A finger poked the outside of his nose. “It’s ready.”
“One at a time or both together?” the barber asked. Why was the barber asking him? Wasn’t this something they did all the time? He panted as his heart thumped out of his chest. He wasn’t afraid of anything, not ever, until right at that moment. His fingers dug into the arms of the chair and his whole body tensed. Why had he agreed to do something so stupid?
“We gotta get it out. I’m calling it. Let’s do together. Ready?” Lottie said.
“No, I’m not ready. Give me a minute,” Landon said, his eyes screwed tightly shut.
“I wasn’t talking to you. On the count of three. One, two, three.” They yanked in unison and Landon lost his mind. The pain was sharp and excruciating. He bounded forward, dislodging the now cooling towel from his face as he tried to leap from the chair in its extended setting.
“Motherfucker!” He hissed and awkwardly stumbled, getting a good look at the whole room as a booming round of laughter filled the space. He saw red as the intensity of the pain immediately ebbed, and he marked each motherfucker in the room just in case he ever wanted to get even.
“You did that on purpose.” Exactly what a six-year-old might say, and the laughter of the room proved his point.
“Calm down, sugar. We do it to all newbies,” she said, tossing her waxed filled Q-tip— that had given new meaning to the words hard limit—in the trash.
“It’s an initiation,” the barber said, whacking him on the back, clearly misreading the depth of his anger.
“Fucking initiation to what?” he asked, going toward the mirror, hoping they had left some skin behind in their not-so-hilarious joke. “That shit hurt.”
The barber held up his instrument of torture and dried wax. “But you needed it.”
Maybe, once he calmed down, he might see it that way, but his nose felt raw as shit. Then he eyed the stick and his fingers went to his nose again. If he had all that up in there… Did they get it all? He couldn’t be seen out like that. Robert was sure to look his normal hot
